Der Lorelei
by Sisterhood Of Traveling Kunai
Summary: Steampunk AU, GerIta  w/ side pairings .  Human names used.  It wasn't fair. Ludwig didn't want to babysit the sons of a Mafia boss and a slightly insane Russian while fighting off a suddenly vindictive sky-pirate. His brother wasn't so helpful either.


**A/N: Hullo!**

**Eli and Ren here. It being that we're both incredibly fond of Steampunk, and incredibly fond of Hetalia, we decided to meld the two into AWESOME SOUP… er, um, this story.**

**Main pairing of GerIta, as you may have guessed/read in the summary. There are going to be a plethora of side-pairings, but I'm lazy and evil and don't feel like telling them all to you. (I'm Eli. The mean one. Ren's the nice one. ….Haha, just kidding. There is no nice one. We're both deranged psychos. Tee-hee!)**

**Enjoy, and feel free to drop a review! Thanks!**

It was a beautiful day, high above the eternal smog that covered the industrial country of Germany.

Far below, the rusted towers gave off a constant sickly smoke, and unwieldy gears ground against each other violently, causing near constant noise. Women and men wore colorless clothing, adorned with lace and other such frivolous details, so as to insinuate power that they didn't have. Bony children picked pockets and scrounged for money on the streets, and violence ran amok.

But above.

High above.

So high above that not even the green-tinted smog could reach them, and the sound of clockwork was muffled.

Above the country, in the sky, was beautiful. The pale sun had just risen above the billowing clouds, the sky a mixture between lively blue and creamy ochre.

Ludwig Beilschmidt opened his eyes to the soft sunlight. The sound of cogs ground quietly in the background. Blinking the last remnants of sleep, and with them the vague memories of his dreams, he rolled out of his bed, landing with a soft _thud_ on the ground.

His room was very lightly furnished, as he rarely indulged in pictures (they cost too much money and too much time, both of which he didn't enjoy wasting). He glanced at the calendar he had pinned to the wall - one of the room's only furnishings, actually - and smiled slightly to himself at the date.

Today was his birthday.

He put on a pair of slacks and an undershirt, picking up the first shirt he found on the floor. He pulled it on lazily, leaving it unbuttoned until he walked out of his bedroom. The decks were mahogany, but weathered and scratched. Ludwig winced at the conditions of the railings, and resolved to sand them, and then clean the portholes. The brass was rusting around them, and the windows were fogged.

Once he was on the deck, he buttoned his shirt all the way, not wanting to tempt one of his brother's best friends and crew-mate, Francis Bonnefois. The man was a little... hands-on, for the lack of a better word.

Speaking of his brother...

"Bruder, bruder!" he called out, his deep voice carrying across the deck easily. There was no reply, which puzzled him. Even though Gilbert Beilschmidt was anything but a morning person, he was incredibly vocal. Every morning he was greeted with the cackling exuberance that marked his silver-haired sibling as a unique and "awesome," as Gilbert put it, personage.

"Bruder!" he called again, wondering if he had simply not heard him.

"He went out on the dinghy." one of the crew members, Roderich Edelstein, said, adjusting his glasses. Roderich was a handsome man, tall and aristocratic with purple eyes.

"Where to?" Ludwig asked, raising a confused eyebrow.

"He didn't say." Roderich replied curtly, before turning and walking away, presumably to converse with someone else. It was a well-known fact that Roderich was not fond of Ludwig's elder brother.

The sound of an extra several hundred cogs grinding alerted Ludwig to an approaching ship. He glanced up, and did a double take.

The aero-ship was made of fresh, new-looking wood, with shining metal all along the hull and decorating the sides. Clear glass portholes, not covered in cobwebs as were the ones in Ludwig and his brother's ship, stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes, rimmed in brilliant brass. The sails were rich black with red lines. The black ship was confident, ominous, and most of all - new-looking. In the back, the many cogs and pistons that characterized an aero-ship pumped and worked away, sending back a trail of smoke. Everything was shining and brilliant, new and polished, overwhelmingly beautiful-!

And on top of it, perched with his usual lazy confidence, was Gilbert.

Gilbert was adorned in his very best, which was unusual for the normally slovenly man. His shirt was buttoned up - wrinkle-free and washed, as well! The surprise! - and his coat was a smooth black, the tails flapping madly around his leanly muscled body. His trousers were freshly ironed, with the folds visible against the black. His shoes were polished. Atop his head was perched a top-hat, cocked brashly, showing off his ever-messy hair. His bow-tie was straight on his neck, and his brass goggles adorned his top hat, a finishing touch to the confident man.

"Oh, Ludwig!" Gilbert called, waving proudly. "Happy birthday!"

Ludwig's eyes were like saucers as he ran to the railing, giving his elder brother spluttering sentences that belayed the gratitude and shock at such a wonderful birthday present.

When the other ship got close enough, Gilbert hopped on board, grinning widely at his brother.

"So, how's the present? You like it, Bruderlein?"

"J-ja! Where did you get it? How much did it cost? You shouldn't have just needlessly wasted money on my present-"

Gilbert laughed loudly, slapping his brother on the back. "It's your twenty-first birthday, dummkopf! I can't just buy you any old tat!"

Ludwig surprised himself and his brother by embracing the other man. "Thank you."

He felt Gilbert stiffen in surprise at the sudden hug, and then relax, patting Ludwig's back.

"S'all good, Ludwig. I'm proud of you, just so you know." he said gruffly, crimson eyes shining with something that looked suspiciously like tears. Ludwig's own eyes were burning slightly at the fact that this man, who wasn't even his birth brother, would spend so much time and money on him.

The moment was lost when Ludwig coughed and turned away.

"Looks like Gilbert is buying more stuff with our money without our knowledge. Hmph. Happy birthday, by the way, Ludwig," Roderich sniffed.

"Aw, shut up, Mr. Aristocrat." Gilbert grinned, smacking the man on the back of his head. This earned him a death glare.

"Ah, thank you, Roderich."

As Gilbert secured the other aero-ship to his own ship, the blonde Frenchman that Ludwig was dreading appeared from down below.

"Bon anniversaire, mon cher~" Francis Bonnefois breathed into Ludwig's ear, making the poor German blush and elbow his way out of the hold.

"Honestly, Francis, control yourself, or your debt will go up by a few thousand dollars." Gilbert scoffed, but then smiled at his best friend.

Francis pouted, "Is it necessary to talk about my debt constantly?"

"Kesesesese!"

Ludwig jumped at his brother's odd laughter, a mix between a cackle and a snicker, before sighing amusedly to himself. Even after all the years he had spend with Gilbert, he couldn't get used to his strange laugh. He supposed that it was just another item on the long list of Gilbert's strange quirks.

"Have you even had breakfast yet?" Ludwig asked of his brother, who was exchanging witticisms with Roderich.

"What? Oh… no?" the curiously red-eyed man rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, offering his brother his quirky smile. Ludwig shook his head.

"I have an answer to that!" Francis exclaimed in his accented English. The tall man noted that Francis was wearing his apron, and assumed that the man had cooked up some French treat for breakfast. He smiled a little bit to himself at the thought; Francis really was a talented cook.

Ludwig was correct in his assumptions, and he and Gilbert breakfasted on delicious crepes while discussing their plans for the day.

"Luddy, we have a mission today!" Gilbert exclaimed.

"What would that be?"

"We need to find you a _crew!"_

Ludwig hadn't thought of that before (though in his defense, he was still in shock a little bit about just how amazing the ship was).

What if nobody wanted to join his crew? He was, after all, young - barely even an adult yet - and inexperienced. What if no one trusted him? What if there was simply no one around with the skill to become an aero-ship crew-member? His head was swimming with worries, and evidently it showed through, because Gilbert patted him on the back (curiously, it felt more like a hard slap, but such was Gilbert) encouragingly, and said, "Don't worry! There are so many jobless people in the city down there, they'll practically be kissing your feet for you to let them join your crew!"

It sounded believable, what Gilbert had said. When Ludwig heard news from the ground, everything was depressing. Many people were unemployed, and those who were worked in stuffy factories, working in dangerous conditions for minimum wage. Now that he thought about it, it really wouldn't be that hard to find people to man his new aero-ship. Just saying that it was _his_ aero-ship brought a surge of joy through his body, though he managed to hide it well.

After they had finished their meal, the two brothers set out on the dinghy, descending slowly into the thick far beneath them.

Berlin was an industrial city, no doubt.

The lovely architecture - done by what seemed to be Michelangelo's spirit himself, in some places! - soared up into the smoggy sky, and the loud noise of clockwork, the familiar sounds of the grinding of gears and the faint bells of the buoys that chartered the way in the sky, letting even the most foolish of dimwits become able to navigate their way through the skies.

Ludwig flinched as Gilbert steered their small dinghy entirely too close to a buoy, a hawk cawing at the small boat in self-righteous fury, because by God! Gilbert was not the safest driver the skies had ever had. Nor, Ludwig reasoned with a roll of his eyes, was he the most reckless. His dear Bruder just had a tendency to show off and doze off at the most inopportune of moments.

"D'you know what you're going to name her?"

The German startled at the drawling tones of his crimson-eyed companion. "Ah, nein. Not yet." He knew Gilbert was talking of his new aeroship.

_HIS_ new aeroship! Even hours later, the very thought sent rushes of joy down his spine. This was incredible. However, finding a crew did, indeed, put a slight damper on his euphoria. Despite the economic slump, there was a distinct feeling in Berlin that not many trained aero-ship crew-members were to be found. From the savage aero-pirates to the military, they were quickly snapped up, not leaving many traces or hope for a young Captain.

"-maybe _der Fritz_, or _der Lorelei_?" Gilbert's musings brought Ludwig out of his depressed haze.

"Lorelei..." the blonde tested out the name; it rolled trippingly off the tongue, just like the siren, who's name his aero-ship was now to be called, lured unfortunate sailors to their deaths in the deep green waters of the Rhine. "_Der Lorelei_."

"Kesesese, it does look like I found a name for your ship, Westen!" he exclaimed, using on of a multitude of his odd nicknames for Ludwig, "and a lovely one it is!" Gilbert laughed loudly, taking his hands off the tiller to quite literally pat himself on the back.

Ludwig lurched forward, grabbing on as the other man knocked a tarnished metal knob into the boat. The dinghy mimicked his jerky movements, bolting forward with creaks of distress as it's nose abruptly pointed down, much to Ludwig's own distress. Gilbert laughed harder, pulling his goggles on as they nosedived through the filthy air of Berlin.

Ludwig's eyes watered from the sheer speed of the fall, ears popping, and he felt himself slipping out of the boat before the rusty propellor slowed as his brother's pale fingers expertly pulled the knob back out. He was jerked backwards, landing hard amidst some paraphernalia - Gilbert was, indeed, a messy person, he thought wryly - that smelled strongly of old socks and wurst.

"Mein Gott! Are you mad?" he exclaimed, gingerly moving to get up as Gilbert steered his dinghy into water, ready to get to port. That was one of the oddities of Gilbert's ship: it could also double for short periods of time as an aquatic ship. This function was rarely used, as it rusted the gears.

Gilbert barely spared his brother a glance, ignoring his question as he adjusted his top-hat and let his goggles slide around his neck in a casual fashion, exhilarated smile slowly fading from his pale face as he tied the boat up to a dock.

"Where are we going?" Ludwig demanded, jumping out of der Teufelhunde's dinghy easily.

"To the bar, Bruderlein. It's your twenty-first, we should get a beer."

Ludwig didn't have the heart to complain and therefore turn down beer.

The bar was filled with seedy people and loud, as expected.

While Ludwig cringed inwardly at the immense volume, Gilbert seemed to be right at home in the noise as he elbowed his way through the crowd, Ludwig following hesitantly.

The noisy German man called out "Two beers!" to the bartender, holding up his fingers in case the man couldn't understand them. Ludwig took a seat at the bar, grabbing his frothy alcoholic beverage as it was passed forward to him.

He glanced around the bar in interest. In the corner, a large and brassy jukebox played a catchy tune, one that Ludwig felt he had heard many times before. Perhaps it was popular in bars, with it's fast waltz beat. The German wouldn't really know, seeing as this was his first time in a bar of this nature. Roderich had taken him to many a dance hall, but this place, with it's loud, boisterous nature and people - _strangers_, for the love of God! - dancing with each other in ways that made the man's ears flush.

The bar was a simple set up, one with a small dance floor adjacent to the juke-box, and many small tables set up for groups of men, some of which he vaguely recognized, laughing, drinking, and saying lewd things to the women that passed as the night grew darker.

A woman dressed in a much-too-tight corset and not enough clothing to be considered decent (Ludwig blushed as he caught a view of her shin) served drinks to some of the farther-out tables. Past her, though, the blonde's ears perked up to the sound of a loud, rambunctious voice with an odd accent.

"But look at it! It's so shiny, and amazing… see, it's the latest in technology! It's brilliant!"

A much quieter, somewhat cold voice, replied in a deadpan. "No, we can _not _steal the jukebox. I don't care _how_ advanced it is, I'm not breaking your ass out of jail again. These Germans are tough."

"Oh, come on! Hey, hey, Jøkull! Tell me you're with me on this one!"

"No, I'm with my brother… he's right," the third answered in a similarly flat tone. The trio looked familiar. Ludwig wracked his brain as he took an absentminded sip of his beer. _Where had he seen them before?_

"Come on, Nikolas, come on! Please? Pleeeeease?" the largest man - the loud one - begged with the deadpanning one, who was apparently named Nikolas.

"Mathias, for the last time -" Ludwig didn't hear any more of their conversation, as suddenly everything clicked into place. He had seen their faces on wanted posters around Berlin.

They were the feared Nordic aero-pirates. Lead by Mathias Køhler, a loudmouthed man who had no qualms with the use of violence, seconded by an intimidating Swedish man with a scowl that rivaled Ludwig's own. They were big, they were important, they were THE pirates of the sky. Something seemed off, though. He had recalled their being five, but only three occupied the beer-stained table they were sitting at. The large man who he now recognized as Mathias took an even large swig of beer as he argued with the rest of the group.

Ludwig set his own glass down, wandering over towards the table. He thought he heard Gilbert ask where he was going, but wasn't really paying attention.

"E-excuse me?" he asked, interrupting the bickering of the two taller men, who he believed to be Mathias and Nikolas.

"Yeah, whaddaya want, kid?" Mathias asked in English, elbows on the table.

"Are you Mathias Køhler, as in_ the_ Mathias Køhler?" Ludwig asked hesitantly.

"That's right! I am the fearsome aero-pirate of the north, and you better be scared-!"

"Ex-pirate. Two of our crew-members left, and our airship was blown to pieces. He's no threat now," Nikolas said dismally, slumping back on his chair.

"Nikolas, don't be so glum! We'll find a new boat, and be out there in no time! And we'll be better sky-pirates than before without Tino and that idiot Berwald!" Mathias slapped Nikolas on the back, sounding as much like he was trying to convince himself as he was Nikolas. His close contact elicited a small grunt of "get off me" from Nikolas.

Ludwig put on his poker face, straightening his back and subconsciously adjusting his bowtie.

"Would you be interested in joining the crew of the aero-ship _Lorelei_?" he proposed, containing his excitement at the prospect better than he knew he could.

Silence quickly engulfed the table as they considered the idea. Nikolas and Jøkull quietly discussed the idea in their native language, as Mathias ignored the question. It seemed as though the two quiet members of the Nordic crew made the serious decisions, Ludwig thought to himself. He repressed a chuckle at the pout on the Dane's face of not being included.

Jøkull stood up and held out his hand. He was substantially shorter than Ludwig. "Nikolas and I will take you up on your offer. When shall we meet with you?"

"At noon tomorrow, if you could meet myself and my brother at -"

"I'm in! After all, I'm drunk and jobless, and I can't leave Nikolas! He wouldn't make it without me!" Mathias quickly drowned him out, followed be a large swig of beer.

"...at Westhafen. Alright?" Ludwig finished, referencing the largest port in Berlin. Jøkull and Nikolas nodded, while the cocky Mathias gave him an excited thumbs up, and shouted something along the lines of "be there, or be square!".

As Ludwig and Gilbert left the bar, Gilbert scratched his head. "So, Westen, tell me again. _How_ exactly did you get three of the most widely-feared aero-pirates to join your crew?"

Ludwig gave his brother a rare grin, and just shook his head, continuing their rather drunken walk back to the dinghy.

The sun in Italy was searing hot, and Lovino Vargas winced at the fact that he wasn't wearing a hat. The sun's harsh rays slipped down his skin, burning the skin of his shoulders and arms. This was the last load of tomatoes that he had to get, and then he could go inside the house and maybe find something to lessen the sting of the inevitable sunburn. The Vargas family was a wealthy one - some would say, too successful for a family who dealt in tomatoes, pasta and fine wines. Small smiles would be concealed by the family members and the inquirers and finger-pointers of Italy would be silenced in... _creative_ ways.

Nothing was illegal unless one was caught, of course.

"Ve, fratello, fratello!"

The Italian stiffened and he almost dropped his basket of tomatoes as the happy voice of his brother, Feliciano, floated towards him, his auburn head bobbing towards him, hair curl bouncing.

_No hugs, per favore, no hugs-!_

Lovino's dreams of the day that Feliciano would not hug him obsessively whenever he saw him were crushed by said brother's arms wrapping around his middle.

"Fratello, fratello!" the younger twin pressed his face into the other's shoulder, oblivious of his twin's discomfort.

"W-will you get off of me, you idiot?" Lovino demanded awkwardly, holding his tomatoes above his head as he squirmed away from the surprisingly strong hold the small man had on him. "I thought you were with Nonno for that meeting."

Feliciano finally let go, smiling broadly at his twin. "We came back early, hoping to surprise you! Nonno hired a few people to help us with the harvest and act like bodyguards!"

The words came like a kick to the proud Italian's stomach,"What? We can protect ourselves fine without damn bodyguards! What was Nonno _thinking-_?"

The ludicrously huge smile that spread itself across the other Italian's face faded slightly. "Fratello, it's not just that, it's also, well..." he let the sentence trail off, amber eyes staring into the mirrors of his own.

"Ah."

The word "Mafia" was rarely used, not something polite to say in public or private. There were ears and eyes everywhere, and it would be a pity if anything more had to be done to keep the Vargas family safe and secure from prying eyes of the military and local police. It would be bad for both businesses, they reasoned.

There was a roar of gears grinding overhead, and Lovino's head jerked up from it's contemplative position as another aero-ship floated right over the Vargas farm. It was painted a sleek shade of bronze, and bore the distinct crest of the _Regno d'Italia_, the Kingdom of Italy. Some government officials had been getting rather suspicious of the family's success, and their... _affiliations_ had been slow in doing anything productive - not even messages had been sent out, Lovino sighed internally - to stop this subtle investigation. It was a stressful time for all three parties involved.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Feliciano jump and his hand slide surreptitiously down to his belt. Lovino's own hand had instinctively slid to the holster of his own pistol, grabbing the metal with white-knuckled hands as he balanced the tomatoes on one shoulder.

"Relax, my boys. It is just another cruiser coming through. Goodness, you're on edge," the deep voice of his grandfather carried through the hot air. Roma Vargas was a handsome man despite his years, made of steel and a heart of gold as he took in his two grandchildren in when their parents were killed in a so-called accident with their group.

Lovino relaxed, letting his hand slide off his gun. He tilted his face up, enjoying the breeze that the aero-ship created. It made the heat of Italy more bearable - even the smallest of winds made the restrictive hot weather feel better to it's residents.

Roma continued on his little rant,"Lovi! You're not wearing a hat! Your skin is going to be most red tomorrow, and we need you to be presentable at the meeting."

Lovino resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He doubted that any true Italian businessman would care if he was sunburned from working in the fields. True, it was indeed the fashion to be pale, but he could care less about his skin's appearance. He had a gun, a suit, and at least three men behind him. People would pay attention to him.

"Ve, Nonno, I don't think that it will matter too much, as long as he combs his hair!" Feliciano made a gentle jab at his twin's forever messy mop of brown hair. Lovino flushed and glared, shifting his feet back and forth.

"May I go and put these tomatoes away?" he tried for politeness, but only got a snappy, sarcastic tone that made him bite his lip.

Roma nodded, no longer paying much attention to him as an antique button on his shirt fell off. _He never really did pay much attention to us, even after taking us in. Just all business._ Lovino blinked away these thoughts quickly, knowing it was ungrateful of him. Roma was like a father, one who taught him about everything he knew.

Much to the elder Vargas' displeasure, Feliciano kept up with him all the way back to the house, chattering on about something or the other.

"Do be quiet, Feli. I'm trying to work here!" Lovino snapped, setting the tomatoes down a little harder than he might have wanted to.

"It's okay, ne?" the sudden sympathy behind his brother's tone had Lovino blinking away sudden tears. Feliciano always knew how to analyze exactly how his twin felt, as happy and innocent as he might seem to be.

"Nonno doesn't think you're weak, it's just me. I'm no good in battle," Feliciano continued. "You are fine, though. No need to be angry. Right, fratello?"

Bright amber eyes followed Lovino as he abruptly pulled away from Feliciano, grumbling about something or the other - Lovino hated it when Feliciano was able to dissect his moods like this.

The Italian was certainly not expecting to smack into a brown-haired man as he rounded a corner.

"Oof- what the hell do you think you're doing here? This is private property-"

"Ah, you are Lovino! Pleasure to meet you, I am Antonio Fernando Hernadez Carriedo, the mercenary under your dear grandfather's hire-" the man gave him a goofy smile, sitting up slowly as he pressed a hand to his head.

Lovino blushed bright red and stood up, brushing himself off and scowling dangerously. "I don't give a damn who you are, you fool. J-just go away." He cursed at himself for stuttering while talking to the man, but he couldn't help it. _His name sounded so familiar… _

He sounded like someone from Lovino's past. Someone he had tried hard to forget about and never remember. He desperately hoped that the sun had scorched his face enough so that the uncomfortable flush on his face wouldn't be seen.

"I've noticed something about you, Lovino!" this cheerful man said, once again reminding the young man of his unpleasant history.

Lovino was suddenly incredibly tempted to punch the man in the face and then walk off, but refrained from doing so, instead inclining his head and waiting for Antonio to finish his probably inane thought and trying to keep his best poker face up (Nonno really wouldn't like it if he spent all of his time glaring at the mercenary).

Antonio's green eyes closed and he smiled wider, "You look like a tomato when you flush!"

The sunny corridor was abruptly punctuated with a loud cry of anger, and an equally loud cry of pain.

"Ve, Lovino! Don't beat up our guests!"

Just like the heat in Italy, the cold in Moscow, Russia was overwhelming young Ivan Braginski in his desperate run to safety. Snow fell all around him as he dashed through the alleyway, skidding haphazardly on the slick ice. The streets of Moscow were empty.

It was, in fact, one in the morning.

Ivan heard the loud panting of his attacker running after him, footsteps muffled by the snow. He was so close to safety, so close to home-!

The violet-eyed man pulled open the door and slammed it shut, locking it and bolting the door.

"Ivan- IVAN!" Yekaterina Chernenko screamed quietly, tears already beginning to pour down her face as the older Ukrainian girl rushed over to his bleeding form. Ivan winced as the sudden harsh burn of his wounds hit him, forcing him to slump down onto the icy floor. His sister's significantly large chest smothered him as Yekaterina, affectionately known as Katyusha, hugged him tightly.

"Hush, Katyusha," he reminded his sister gently as she grabbed for some bandages. "Winter's still out there."

She nodded tearfully and bent over his wounds, expertly dressing them with a few spoons full of vodka in an attempt to sterilize the knife wounds. Ivan hissed a few choice swear words in Russian, making no effort to stop the contorting of his face from the pain. Katyusha quietly sobbed and apologized each time her brother made any sort of noise or jerked away from her gentle hands.

"Where's Natalya?" he asked softly, taking a gulp of the vodka. Natalya Arkoslaya was their younger sister from Belarus, who had an obsession for knives and an intense hero worship for Ivan. This often made the Russian uncomfortable, for it was an fearsome amount of love that she carried for him, but in his heart he knew this was how Natalya showed her love for his brother.

"She's in her room-"

Ivan's violet eyes froze suddenly, and he was up on his feet immediately, swaying in pain but limping the best he could up to her room. Yekaterina gasped, understanding his concerns, and followed him, supporting her Russian brother.

A sudden unladylike curse fell from Yekaterina's lips and she grabbed for her gun as the image in Natalya's small room painted itself into her eyes.

Ivan merely snarled at the man in the room, violet eyes both burning and freezing with hatred.

He was simply known as Captain Winter, no one knew his real name. He was the head of the Russian Mafia, a man who was only interested in money and power. He had rescued Ivan, Natalya and Yekaterina from their countries and homes, promising them and their families food and shelter - everyone needed food and shelter, it seemed!

When they were first in Russia, everything was wonderful. Having just been rescued from starving on the streets, Winter nursed them back to health, and gave them the finest luxuries they could imagine - delicious warm food, soft beds, comfortable clothing - they were practically waited on hands and feet.

As soon as they were healthy, however, they were coerced into becoming part of his mafia and pirate band and taught all they needed to know to run it and fight. All of the three were subservient to this apparently wonderful man, loving him and everything he taught them, singing his praise as he gave them false hope about their countries becoming one and their families becoming wealthy. It had been years of this, until they began to see his true side. Winter would get drunk and hit them, force them to do despicable things to innocent people, order them to do things that the other men of his would not.

So the three banded together, made a family together, protecting one another the best they could under their circumstances. Only recently had they dared become as defiant as they were, and only recently had Winter decided that this should end, attempting to crush their attempts of rebellion with an iron fist.

Ivan was protective of his adopted siblings, that much was obvious from his shaking fists and violently burning eyes. The glistening knife that the much hated Captain Winter held at Natalya's throat didn't help his more violent tendencies at all.

"Let her go…" he mumbled, fear and anger and every other awful negative emotion he could feel roiling in his stomach, making him feel as though he was going to vomit.

Winter smirked, holding the knife slightly closer to her pale neck and delighting in the little squeak of pain that escaped Natalya's lips.

"Is little Vanya worried?" Winter cooed in his rough baritone. "I will leave her alone… but only if you come back to me, Vanya."

It was déjà vu, as the French put it.

This had happened so many times before. He had tried to run, tried to get away, but Winter knew his weakness. His sisters. He could always make him come back, and make him do the old man's evil bidding.

But not this time.

Ivan had had enough.

Ivan Braginski was not going to let this monster walk all over him.

With an almost demonic shout, he lunged forward and grabbed onto Winter's knife, roughly pushing it away from Natalya. The terrified girl stumbled backwards, Yekaterina catching her, and holding her close. The two teenagers staggered away, Natalya sobbing into Katyusha's firm embrace.

As General Winter tried to pull the knife back, it tore along the skin on Ivan's hand (he had caught it by the blade when he pulled it away), drawing warm, sticky blood. Ivan's grip was strong, his anger making him numb, and he didn't let go. He had lived in fear for too long. Looking down at Winter for a split instant, he realized that he had grown taller than the man who had ruled him seemingly forever.

Ivan kicked his leg out expertly at the slightly shorter man's shin, who buckled and let his hand go in order to keep his balance. The knife now in his grip, Ivan grabbed the old man by the shirt. A sickeningly sweet smile made its way onto his face (an expression he had learned from Winter, in fact) and he spoke in a carefully measured tone.

"No. Not this time. You think you can use my sisters and I as you want, da? Not today. I am sick of killing the innocent, and working for a slimy pig like you. I am sick of being unable to buy groceries without a gun at my side, and I am sick of being unable to relax even when I sleep."

Winter's eyes gleamed and he snarled at Ivan, hands punching at the eighteen-year-old's solid chest and bouncing off as the Russian boy continued.

"I am sick of Katyusha crying herself to sleep every night, and I am sick of Natalya fearing the dark simply because every shadow looks like you. I am sick of this life, and most of all…." his voice grew in volume as he spoke, and slowly his smile lapsed into an expression of pure rage. "I am sick of you!" he shouted, stabbing the knife into the man's gut. Winter doubled over in pain as Ivan dropped him gracelessly onto the floor, delivering a hard kick to his ribs and letting a dark laugh leave his lips.

"Katyusha, Natalya, get everything you need, we're leaving tonight!" he called, a slightly frantic tone in his voice as he realized the consequences of what he'd done. It felt good, though, to watch Winter crumple forward in a pool of blood because of his knife.

The next few moments were hurried and jumbled. Natalya and Yekaterina dropped their carpetbags onto the dusty kitchen floor, next to Ivan's bag. He filled one last bag with all of the food in their cupboards - sadly, only three slightly-stale loaves of rye bread, and a packet of smoked meat. Ivan was more glad of his deeds at the sight of the neglect Winter had put them through - and the little bit of money they had.

Trying to contain his nerves, he passed out the weapons they had with them. Natalya took her leather case of knives, sliding several slender blades into the folds of her dress. Yekaterina took three strong revolvers, screwing on a silencer. Ivan took a flintlock pistol, and a somewhat decorative - but still sharp and deadly! - rapier.

The three of them walked out of the house, all hugging their thin winter coats tightly to their bodies.

Above them, Captain Winter's dinghy floated, awaiting his return.

"привет!" Ivan called to the man in the dinghy. "Captain Winter will be joining us shortly! Let the ladder down!"

After a short hesitation, the ladder came down.

"I will take care of this," Natalya said, determined to prove herself brave as she ascended the ladder. Only fourteen, she was the youngest of the three. She wanted Ivan to be as proud of her as she was of him. She strived to be as amazing as her elder brother was in her eyes, full of courage and strength. God knew how much Ivan cared for her.

A glint of pride shone briefly in his eyes as the man was flung out of the dinghy, his scream choked by a precise bullet from Yekaterina's revolver.

They immediately made their way towards the Captain's shipyard. In no time, they had found a ship to their liking, and used the badge showing their allegiance to Captain Winter that they had stolen off of the dinghy-driver's body to gain possession of the ship. The men had suspected nothing, and had waved them off the dock.

It was well past five in the morning, and the sun was just beginning to rise when they stopped, floating still and silent in the pale sunlight. The trio didn't know where they were, but they felt safe, no longer under Winter's thumb. They were huddled in the cabin, far away from the biting winter winds. Ivan was steering the aero-ship, violet eyes set on the horizon as he threw a line around the clockwork buoy in a violation of the aero-ship laws.

He honestly didn't care anymore.

"Vanya, are we going to be safe?" Katyusha asked, fear shining in her azure eyes. Ivan had always thought her eyes were pretty, reminding him of the sky where he was born. Natalya perked up at the question also, and soon two pairs of curious eyes bored into the tall man.

Though it was a struggle to say (he wasn't sure if what he was saying was really even true), Ivan said, "Da." It didn't sound like enough to him, though.

"We will go somewhere sunny and warm, where Captain Winter will never hurt us, and the sun will always be shining. There will be fields full of sunflowers, and we will eat delicious food every day," he added, almost deluding himself into believing what he said was true. He wasn't sure, but he could hope.

"Mmm… sunflowers…." Natalya said, only half awake. "Brother?" she asked groggily.

"Yes?" he said.

"Can we name our new ship the Sunflower?"

"Da," Ivan said softly. He stroked his sister's long blonde locks until her breathing evened out, choosing then to fall asleep himself.

And so, as the sun set steadily above the newly-christened подсолнечник, the three slept well in the cockpit, for the first time in a very long time.


End file.
